


for what is worth

by nanasekei



Series: Genesis [2]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: (well mary isn't really much of an outsider is she), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infidelity, M/M, No Cult Ending, POV Outsider, Romance, implied internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:29:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: You deserve better than this, she wanted to say.You deserve better than this.She tried to ignore that thought, but it echoed in her mind, spreading like a cancer, laying roots of something too dangerous for her to even think about acknowledging. You deserve better than this.





	for what is worth

**I. my deep intuition tells me that I'm doing you wrong**

She was a conformist. A friend told her at university once, and altough she rolled her eyes and replied sharply, she knew it was true. She really, really wished she wasn’t. She spend her life playing the amazing part of not giving a fuck about anything. Jim and Kim’s was the perfect place for that. She’d walk around for hours, throwing herself at men who stared at her in a stunned awe, way too scared to take up on her offers, afraid she was too wild and dangerous for them to handle, the poor things. They had no way of knowing the wildest thing on her life was changing Crish’s dirty diapers. And they wouldn’t know the guilt that panged her chest immediately after a thought like that – she loved her kids, she’d tell herself, she really did. And she loved her husband, their house, their family. But sometimes the idea that the rest of her life was already laid out in front of her – bake sales, Sunday services, crashing on their couch at night because she couldn’t stand the thought of touching Joseph even by accident, and then waking up and holding his hand at church for just enough time for the neighbors to see – sometimes, it was too much. Sometimes it made her want to scream and beat her head on the table. Sometimes even thinking about it made her want to die – and yep, that was the time for another shot; thanks, Neil, you’re the best, man. 

The shot always helped. It calmed her down, made her feel comfortable again. A couple more and she had already forgot what was bothering her.

* * *

 

(His hands shacked a little when he pulled out her shirt. She understood, really, because she was also shaking, feeling her heart beating fast. It wasn’t even her first time, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t his, either, but there was something solemn about that hotel room, with the lit candles and the rose petals spread on the bed. It felt strange – exciting, sure, but also heavy and important. He kissed her neck, her hands coming up to his shoulders, the new ring sinking onto his skin as she hugged him tighter. She felt nervous, and he was, too, so she slowed down the rhythm, kissing him softly. It felt scary, somehow, as if they were doing something impossible, something unthinkable. A honeymoon’s bed seemed so big for just the two of them, the sheets almost involving their bodies, swallowing them whole.

“You’re beautiful”, he said, his voice low but honest, and she smiled as he lowered her underwear. She was never going to do this with anyone else again, as long as she lived. Her stomach twisted in nervousness, but Joseph smiled back at her and Mary felt herself relaxing into his arms. Everything was going to be all right.)

* * *

 

She had forgotten her wallet.

Usually, at Jim and Kim’s, that wouldn’t bother her much. Guys bought most of her drinks. That night, though, most of the costumers were usual goers who always came after workhours for a beer or two. Those men wouldn’t pay her anything - they were already familiar with her system.

Still, it wasn’t a big problem. She had known Neil for years, he didn’t mind putting a few drinks on her tab sometimes. He had been hinting that it was time for her to go home, though. Pressing him could easily turn into a “you’ve had enough, Mary” situation.

She looked around the place again. It was mostly empty. Two tables away from the bar, there was an old man sleeping with his face on the table. Then, next to the TV, someone she hadn’t noticed before – some guy.

She realized she knew him from somewhere. Squinting her eyes at his face, she remembered: He had just moved to the house next to theirs, with the wife and a young girl. She had probably seen him in Joseph’s latest barbecue – between the beginning of the party and the three wine bottles she finished thorough the afternoon, her memory of that day was kind of hazy, but she definitely remembered the church ladies getting all agitated at the sight of the brooding guy with the leather jacket. It had sparked a huge wave of gossip about why his wife didn’t bother coming, and where was his daughter, but Mary didn’t care. She was used to Joseph making friends with anyone who stepped into his ray of vision. At least this one kept to himself, a quality she definitely could respect.

His eyes flickered towards her, noticing her look. She looked away, maybe too slowly – her reflexes weren’t what they used to be – but soon enough to not seem too interested, she hoped. That flirting game couldn’t be done with a guy who actually seemed like he wouldn’t be too scared to put her promises to the test. Plus, a married man who lived next door was definitely _way_ too much trouble for a couple of drinks she could easily talk Neil into giving her for free.

 “Neeeeil.” She called. It came out louder than she meant to, but whatever. “Come get your girl the last shot of the night!”

Neil chuckled. “It was your last shot five rounds ago.”

“Let me live, man.” She said, raising her glass to him expectantly. He looked at her for a moment, seeming hesitant. That was Neil’s only problem: She couldn’t trust him to get her wasted. He was way too nice for that.

 “Come on, dude, just one more.” She pleaded, trying her best to sound sober. “Put it on my tab.”

Neil let out a nervous laugh. “Mary, I can’t just…”

“Put it on mine, then.”

It was the handsome guy’s voice. He raised up from his table, walking towards them and taking the seat next to hers. “Give us another bottle of this beauty.” He said, raising his own whiskey glass and taking the final sip. He wasn’t slurring words out like she was, but he did seem a little tipsy.

Neil stared at him confusedly for a few seconds, looking back at Mary with a clear question on his face. It took her a few seconds to process the whole thing, but she shrugged. She wasn’t one to refuse a free drink.

They spend a few moments in awkward silence before Neil came back with the bottle and filled their glasses. Mary felt tense and choose not to look the guy, fixating on their hands on the counter. He was wearing his wedding ring. That made her feel a bit better, before she gazed at her own hand. Shit. She had been forgetting to put it on way too often lately.

He picked the glass as soon as Neil finished filling it, taking a long sip.

“So, uh, not complaining or anything” She started, taking a sip of the her own glass. Damn, it was good stuff. “But… You’re not making a move on me, are you?”

His eyes widened, and he threw his head back, letting out a long laugh. She felt a blaze of relief in her chest.

“Man, how much have you had? You met my wife the other day.” He said, looking at her with a smirk.

Mary smiled, rolling her eyes at him. “I meet lots of husband and wives.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t even bother to learn their names anymore. I just smile and offer a sip of my vodka to the wife later, so we can bond.”

He raised his eyebrows, leaning towards her, as if they were sharing a secret. “So… You offered my wife vodka?”

Mary also leaned forward, their faces almost touching now, her voice turning to a whisper.

“Dude, I have _no_ idea.”

He laughed again, seeming almost surprised with himself. Soon, she was laughing too, and the noise of their laugher echoed around Jim and Kim’s, sounding nice at her ears. They walked back to the cul-de-sac as old friends, helping each other up when they stumbled in the middle of their own steps.

They never said their names, and, as she remembered later, they had definitely been introduced before. In her opinion, though, that was when they actually met.

* * *

 

**II. how can we go back to the beginning?**

She didn’t cry at her wedding day. She was just so nervous, trying to make sure everything was in the right place. Her mother cried, though, and a couple of her cousins too, and Mary felt a wave of affection for how much they cared.

During the ceremony, it didn’t occur to her it was her duty as a bride to cry. It wasn’t until years later, when the “wedding” topic came up at bake sales conversations, that she felt weird about it. She heard the other moms talk about how they managed to hold their tears back until the moment of the vows, or of how they fell into tears in the moment they put their dress on or whatever. It was your average cliché catholic suburban mom talk – so, naturally, it was the most boring thing in the universe. Mary would sip on her wine and listen to Janet’s heartfelt story about how she had pretty much ruined her eye makeup by the time she said “I do” and wish she had her vodka bottle nearby. Still, she nodded politely, holding back her impulse to ask Janet if she hadn’t cried more later on that night when she saw Gary with his pants off for the first time.

When her turn came up, she’d try to change the subject, maybe cracking that inappropriate joke about Janet’s husband after all. The other moms exchanged nervous looks every time she opened her mouth, smiling uncomfortably as if they were talking to a child who had managed to sneak her way into the adult’s table. It was just so condescending, and she pretended she didn’t notice, taking another sip of her wine, pretending not to see how they all watched as she took the glass to her lips, like a goddamn patrol. They were just so obvious, acting as if they were holy saints in front of her to make her look worse, as if they could see through her soul because they talked a few times a week. _And what do you see, Janet?_ , she thought, her anger boiling inside of her. _Do I smile too much at the bar? Joke about Robert’s ghosts too many times a night? Walked home alone more times than it was appropriate? Huh? I’m just doing my normal job here, nothing new on the rodeo, holding my husband’s hand during the father’s sermon, watching my four kids, ready to pop out a fifth one anytime he sees it fit. Forgive me if I’m a little more honest about it than the rest of you fake harpies, ok?_

She knocked back the rest of her glass, excusing herself to go the bathroom. Her bottle was still half-full. _Fuck you all._

Joseph didn’t cry either, but nobody asked _him._

* * *

She saw it. She wasn’t an idiot. He thought he was so subtle about it, but he was the idiot, really, because how could he think she didn’t see? Sure, he tried to hide it, but still – the way he looked away at the sight of some men, almost avoiding them; the expression on his face when Hugo mentioned his husband; and now, this. She was willing to spend most of her time pretending to be shortsighted, but she wasn’t blind, and even a blind person would have noticed the rush his voice got when Robert was around, the way his laughter got more nervous and honest, the way he stuttered a couple words and passed him his burger plate so careful to not brush his hand on his. It angered her how obvious he was. She wanted to urge him to be subtler, for their own sake if not for hers. The last thing she needed were the church moms gossiping among themselves about her husband’s crush on their next-door neighbor.

It did made her feel a bit sad, though. _Robert wears his wedding ring to the bar_ , she wanted to tell him, almost smug. _He was my friend first_ , she’d think, seeing the way Joseph’s eyes followed his mouth when they were talking. _You’re the third-wheel here, buddy_. Sure, Robert never bought Marilyn along to any bake sale, but hey, she and Joseph hadn’t invented bad marriages. Robert never talked about it, and she never asked, because something they quickly got about each other was that Jim and Kim’s was a place for good alcohol and untouchable personal emotions. Instead, they talked about ghosts, or the funny stories she had about the mom network of the neighborhood, or anything remotely fun and silly that would get them cackling loudly after the first few shots. She liked him. He was smart, funny and completely uninterested in her personal life, which, in Mary’s opinion, made him the perfect friend. Sure, apparently, her husband liked him too, maybe a little too much, but it didn’t matter. Yeah, she saw Robert’s eyes following the way Joseph’s arms worked to flip the burgers on the grill, and she saw the way he blushed when he noticed she was looking, but that didn’t matter either. Robert wore his wedding ring to the bar. He was _her_ friend first. She felt angry at how obvious Joseph was at first, but after thinking about it, she almost felt a little bit sorry for him.

* * *

 

(Joseph didn’t speak at the funeral. As the local minister, it was expected he would, but Robert didn’t ask him to. Father Adam spoke instead, and, honestly, Mary couldn’t focus on much of his sermon – the man wasn’t that great of a speaker to begin with, and she sneaked out in the beginning of the ceremony to empty up her vodka bottle with Robert, so during his speech, she spend most of the time focusing on seeming sober enough for a funeral. It probably worked, but only because Robert was distracting everyone else, almost falling at every step he took, randomly interrupting Father Adam with some slurred meaningless lines, and loudly demanding to go to Jim and Kim’s every couple of minutes. It was a fucking train wreck in every way, and Joseph attempted to keep the situation in control, trying to make Robert have some water and calm down a little. Besides them, Val was sitting in the ground, hugging her knees in complete silence. Mary wanted to go to comfort her, but she was afraid of stumbling all over the place.

So she just watched. She watched as Robert sobbed quietly into Joseph’s arms, shaking like a child. Joseph seemed to be doing the most important thing he ever did in his life for how careful he held Robert’s body to keep him from falling to the ground. Maybe he was happy, she thought, cruelly. Maybe he was glad to have an excuse to touch him like that, in front of everybody, without raising any eyebrows. She felt a little bad for thinking like that, but watching them hugging so tightly, seeing the gentle expression on Joseph’s face and the care with which he rubbed Robert’s shoulders made her angry – she felt jealous of _both_ of them, in a way, and part of her wanted to push Joseph aside and help Robert on her own.

She couldn’t, though. She watched as Robert buried his face in her husband’s shoulder as if it had always meant to be there, and his sobs calmed down after a few moments as Joseph mumbled something into his ear. He threw up all over Joseph’s suit and he didn’t even blink, not letting go of Robert in any point, staying by his side during the entire ceremony. Mary’s heart ached as they touched, partly wanting to break them apart and the other part wanting to yell at Joseph to hold him tighter.)

* * *

 

**III. i've been sick and tired of running**

“Give it to me.”

Chris handed her the pen, seeming embarrassed. His hands were covered in ink, just like the wall behind him, where he decided to show off the new skills he had learned in art class. _Or to piss me off_ , Mary thought, already dreading the conversation where she’d have to tell Joseph why she didn’t stop him. It was his fault, anyway – whose idea was to store their whiskey bottles in the garage? Hell, if she had her way, they’d be spread around the house just like his trashy novels. But they weren’t, so every time she wanted a shot during the day, she had to go to the garage to get some. She suspected that was exactly what Joseph wanted, and it made her furious.

“Good.” She knelt to get at her son’s eye level. “Now, you apologize…”

A loud bump interrupted her words. She turned around to see two chairs knocked over in the floor, with Christian and Christie on top of them. Christian, holding his knee, began to cry, which of course made Crish, in the couch, burst into tears as well.

“Shit!” Mary said, and Chris chuckled behind her, clearly glad to have her attention diverted from him. She ran towards Christian, sitting next to him only to see there wasn’t a scratch on his leg. He was probably just crying from the scare of falling, she realized, but any consolation she might have offered would have to be after she calmed Crish down. Man, that baby could scream. She picked him up, attempting to soothe him back to sleep, but he didn’t seem affected. Christian, back to his feet, was now looking at Chris’s drawings on the wall, asking him about it as if he was interested in continuing the work. Mary gave them a severe look, but soon had to go back to focusing on Crish.

Christie remained sat on the floor, ignoring her brothers. She looked at Mary and smiled. _This is your future_ , Mary wanted to say, suddenly feeling very sad. _Trying to juggle a bunch of kids with a husband you don’t care about, in the name of a God you don’t believe in._

She told herself she was being dramatic. Christie was such a clever girl, so sensible and mature for her age – she could achieve anything she ever wanted to, Mary knew. She had no way of knowing how her life would be or how she’d feel about it. And yet, conscious of her daughter watching her, she wanted to hold Christie by her shoulders, look into her eyes and tell her the truth about everything, about her falling asleep in the couch every night, about the vodka bottle in her purse, about Robert and Joseph exchanging looks at the lunch table when they thought nobody was watching. _You deserve better than this,_ she wanted to say.

_You deserve better than this._

She tried to ignore that thought, but it echoed in her mind, spreading like a cancer, laying roots of something too dangerous for her to even think about acknowledging. _You deserve better than this._

* * *

 

She didn’t see Robert for another week, until she accidentally bumped into him at Mat’s place. She had just picked up Christian and Christie from their acting class and they were begging for some carrot cake, so she decided to stop by.

“Hey” she said, right after ordering, approaching him at the counter while the twins were busy talking to Mat and Carmensita.

To Robert’s credit, he didn’t ignore her. He didn’t say anything, though, just nodded politely before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Something wrong, buddy?” She asked, half-sad, and half wanting to laugh.

“No.” He answered immediately. But of course, everything was wrong, and maybe he’d just grown tired of ignoring it, Mary thought. He was probably over that fucking masochist act her and Joseph kept going on, and since she knew Robert well, she realized he was probably a bit mad at having been caught up in the middle of it.

He didn’t have the _right_ to be mad, of course. But then again, he didn’t have the right to fuck her husband either.

“Good.” She said. There was an uncomfortable silence as she waited for the kids to finish their talk so she could get the hell out of there. She had never experienced an uncomfortable silence with Robert before. They could not talk for hours without any problem, and it wasn’t weird or tense – they could just stop talking by 3 a.m. at the bar when there was nobody else there anymore, and Robert would just help her get home, both of them stumbling drunkenly over each other without saying a word. It was nice. It felt like home.

Christian and Christie came back, with cake all over their faces. They fussed over Robert for a moment and Mary felt sad. It was easy to resent Joseph – she had gathered a lot of practice through the years, after all – but she wasn’t used to being upset at Robert.

“Here, here” she said, grabbing the twins by their hands. “Say goodbye to uncle Robert”.

“Bye, uncle Robert!”

“Bye” He answered, glancing at her face for a moment, seeming as lost as she felt. Mary wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn’t find the words.

_He was my friend first_ , she thought, sadly, closing the door behind them.

* * *

 

(Fuck Joseph, she thought, almost dragging the twins as she walked fast through the street, shaking with anger, trying to hold back tears. And fuck Robert, too, because it takes two to tango and it definitely takes two to ruin a marriage and a friendship at once. But _fuck that_ , too, because what marriage had they ruined anyway? For something to be ruined it had to work at some point –not seeming like it could or should work perfectly, but actually work. It had to have been right at some point. She remembered that nerve-wrecking heavy feeling at their honeymoon, how it felt like they were committing to something greater, bigger than both of them combined. And then Robert happened on the cracks of that greatness, because there were way too many cracks for them to be able to hold it up over their heads. In that hotel room it felt like it could crush them, and now she saw it had, little by little, over all those years. They were both suffocating under it.)

* * *

 

Christian seemed unaware of anything around him, still delighted from his cake. Christie, though, looked at her almost hesitantly. For an insane moment, Mary thought she had realized everything, that she was about to confront her with the tension she felt between her and Robert and how daddy and mommy weren’t talking and mommy was sleeping on the couch most nights and-

“She’s pretty”, she said.

Mary blinked.

“W-what?” She took a moment to collect herself, trying to process what she had just heard. “Who?”

“Carmensita” Christie answered, her cheeks flushing, almost swooning while saying her name. “She’s… Really, really pretty.”

Mary stopped walking for a moment, looking at her daughter’s bashful but dreamy expression, and she felt her heart sinking.

* * *

 

She knocked back the vodka.

It could very well be nothing, obviously. It was _probably_ nothing.

But what if it wasn’t? What if it was something, and as she grew it turned it into everything? What if she didn’t get it? What if she said to herself it was nothing, again and again and again as she was saying “I do” in an altar in front of a man who she thought was all she needed to be happy? Shit, would Mary have to cry at her wedding? Would she cry? Would she hug her before walking up the aisle, stare at her soul with those blue eyes (Joseph’s eyes) and hope that _Mary_ would have the right words to calm down that constant uneasy feeling on her chest?

And what the fuck would she say? When did she ever knew what to say to her children? She would hug her tight to avoid looking at her face, because she was that cowardly, and then she would just spend her life pretending not to see that plea of confusion in her eyes.

She knocked back another glass. Her hands were almost shaking too much to pour the next one.

It was probably nothing, she thought, finally giving up and reaching for the bottle instead, taking a long sip. It had to be. Christie would enjoy getting married and having kids, she told herself, under her breath, attracting a few odd looks from the table next to hers. Most people did.

But what if she didn’t? What if one day another girl made her smile like that and she felt the world as she knew was going to fall apart if she ever acknowledged it? Or worse, what if she didn’t even let herself smile in the first place? What if she buried it inside and forced herself to smile at guys for so long she didn’t even notice anymore? And then Mary would have to cry at her wedding, and she’d feel that nervousness without understanding, and years later she’d meet a neighbor with dark eyes and a leather jacket and-

_I’m losing it_ , Mary told herself, shaking her head.

And yet she couldn’t take that image out of her mind, Christie saying Carmensita’s name with that smitten voice, with such a purity only an eight year old’s crush could have. She thought about Christie looking at her with that dreamy expression, talking about that girl, telling Mary something she definitely had not told any of her brothers, and maybe something she herself wasn’t even aware of. Her daughter was so fucking _smart_ , and so fucking sensible and brave, and when she looked at her Mary still saw that unconditional trust in her eyes, that need for her opinion and approval dripping through her words when she said anything.

How long would that last? How long until she did the math and realized Mary wasn’t worth of that look? Worse, what if she never did? What if it lasted forever? What if Christie was never able to see the misery all over the way mommy and daddy held their hands during Sunday service? What if she thought it was _normal?_ What if she thought this was how love was meant to be life, and whatever weird feeling she had for a pretty girl at the coffee shop was something else, something not worth fighting for?

_Stop projecting, you sound like a shitty psychiatrist._

She finished the bottle, feeling sick to her stomach. She wanted to throw up, but she couldn’t – not in the middle of the kitchen, at least (not again). She stood up, struggling to make her way to the bathroom. She fell on the floor on her knees immediately after opening the door, unable to hold any longer, spilling her guts all over the closed toilet. It smelled like shit, and Mary felt her eyes welling up. She felt angry at everyone around her – at Joseph, Robert, hell, even Christie.

She had to get up and clean that mess, because they were having a fucking bake sale in the morning and she needed to change into something clean before everyone else woke up. Still, she felt unable to move. She just sat there, covered in vomit, sobbing like a child, wanting to be anywhere else but there. A fitting metaphor everything else in her life, she realized. Then, out of nowhere, she heard that whisper, that quiet mantra emerging strong in her mind all of a sudden: _You deserve better than this._

She didn’t fight it this time. She didn’t have the strength to. She just let it sink all over her: _You deserve better than this._

They all did, in the end.

* * *

 

**IV. just say you forgive me and don't let me go**

She didn’t even think about printing them, at first. She just googled it, almost distractedly, just to take a look, just to see how scary they’d seem. The answer was: A lot. It was all so complicated, a bunch of bureaucracy she had no idea how to even begin to handle. In her social circle, there weren’t many people who could help her with that, for obvious reasons. She supposed she could ask Hugo, but on her context, even saying the word “divorce” out loud would be enough to set every gossiper on the neighborhood on fire.

So she didn’t ask him or anyone. She just googled for a few minutes, stared at the results on the first page, and then closed the tab immediately, almost nervous that someone would catch her in the act. She didn’t think about doing it again.

* * *

 

(At first.)

* * *

 

She and Robert slowly started talking again. Not like before, obviously – it would never be like that again, to Mary’s sadness. But they didn’t ignore each other anymore, at least. Mostly because of practical reasons: Their cul-de-sac was way too small to ignore anyone for too long, and she and Robert spend too much time in the same places to forever avoid acknowledging each other’s presence. Plus, it was hard to ignore people when you had five shots of tequila in your head. Mary found herself walking towards Robert’s table at the bar way too many times, and then one night she just sat beside him, watching him finish a glass of whiskey. He stared at her nervously, but didn’t move away. The silence between them almost felt comfortable.

Then she noticed the hickey on his neck.

He didn’t understand what happened, clearly, because he only mumbled confusedly when she stood up suddenly and walked to the opposite end of Jim and Kim’s.

She wasn’t sure why she did it – she wasn’t surprised, obviously. There was no reason for them to stop all of a sudden, just because she knew. Hell, for the looks she saw each of them shoot at the other when they thought no one was watching, Mary wasn’t sure they could stop even if they tried. Even if they wanted to.

And they probably really wanted to, she realized, sitting at an isolated table with her back turned to Robert. They probably tried a lot. She remembered Joseph holding him at the funeral – Robert was coming apart in her husband’s arms, and yet, somehow, she felt for them there. She wanted Joseph to hold him tighter, to help him stand up. Now there, years later, sitting alone in a bar to avoid looking at her best friend’s face, she couldn’t help but wonder how long they had wanted to touch each other like that. How it must have hurt.

Robert was still staring at her, she knew. She didn’t look back, but in her head that same thought echoed, this time not directed at herself: _You deserve better than this._

She had gotten used to repeating it, so she didn’t cringe, and instead mumbled again. And again. And again and again and again.

* * *

 

She googled the papers again. This time, she looked over them more carefully, trying her best to understand some of it. It turned out the basics weren’t that hard.

She googled some lawyers. It turned out some of them weren’t so expensive.

Next to her, Christian and Christie were drawing. Christie walked towards her chair and sat right next to it, resting her read in her lap while coloring. Mary couldn’t hold back a smile. She was so caring, her daughter. So sweet and thoughtful. She looked up at Mary and smiled back. Mary felt her heart beating faster, her head pounding with fear of her daughter’s childish look, of the idea of how it could change through the years.

(She had Joseph’s eyes. She didn’t have to carry his burden as well.)

Mary took a deep breath. She saved the lawyer’s contact.

* * *

 

(She did type “A.A.” in the search bar, but didn’t have the courage to press enter.)

* * *

 

There was a hotel downtown. It wasn’t too far, and it wasn’t too expensive. She could book almost a month in advance with her savings. Sure, it wouldn’t have the comfort of her parents’ house, but she wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone either.

It still took her a few weeks to call, though. Every time she mustered the courage to dial the number, that crippling fear stormed over her, filling her head with _buts_ and _don’ts_ that she didn’t need anymore. She wasn’t even sure of what she was so scared of. She had spend so much time with those fears governing her life that by now it was almost a matter of habit. They were behind her ear every night, in every church sermon, in every bake sale, in all of her and Joseph’s late night fights after she returned from the bar. They kept her hostage. It was just so much easier to stay there, to not think about it, to push that misery inside and pretend it wasn’t there.

She looked at the phone and to the front yard, watching Joseph work on their plants, his head firmly turned anywhere that wasn’t Robert’ house so deliberately it was kind of sad. He turned his face to the window, noticing her gaze. His expression tensed up immediately, as usual. He gave her a polite nod and turned back to the plants.

He looked so tired, Mary thought. And she probably wasn’t much better. They had to try so hard each day, doing their best to make the hours pass, to pretend that life was happening to someone else.

She did consider talking to him. Sitting in front of him and having a conversation like the two adults they supposedly were. She supposed she owed him that, after all that time – a proper goodbye, at least. She wanted to do like they did in the movies, with that quiet and sad acceptance of what had changed and ended. Still, she knew her and Joseph would probably just end up screaming at each other. Mary didn’t want that. Most importantly, she was terrified of what would happened if they _didn’t_ end up fighting. What if Joseph listened to everything she had to say and just asked her to stay? Worst of all, what if she mentioned Robert and he promised her to end everything with him? What if he begged? What if he got so afraid that he was able to pull that fear from inside of her, as well? What if she did end up staying?

Joseph’s hands seemed to shake a little when he risked a quick glance at Robert’s yard.

Mary typed the hotel’s number.

* * *

 

(She _was_ tired.

And she was done with fear.)

* * *

 

She waited until everyone else in the house was asleep. She put some clothes in an old backpack. It was quick - there wasn’t much else she wanted to bring anyway.

Then, the note. She was tempted not to write anything, but there was a chance Joseph would just think she had gotten lost on the way back from Jim and Kim’s in that case. So she scribbled down the simplest goodbye possible, with the hotel’s number and a promise to call soon. She knew that it wasn’t really fair to be that abrupt, but to be honest, she wasn’t really sure of what she could say to him anyway.

They both knew what had to be said. They knew for a long time, now. They were saying it on the inside, screaming so loudly that it ended up coming out in some way, whether it was through emptying up bottles of wine or falling in love. It wasn’t the time to say anything else.

It was time to listen.

Her last stop was at the kids’ bedroom. She considered not even going there, still scared that the sight of them would be enough to make her give up her entire plan. It didn’t feel right not to, though. She didn’t approach any of their beds, worried that they could wake up. She just looked at them, staring at their sleeping faces, trying to memorize them in their head. They all looked so much like Joseph, but looking carefully, she could see a little bit of herself in them – the tip of Chris’s nose, the shape of Crish’s ears, the outline of Christian and Christie’s lips.

Mary smiled. In the future, maybe, they’d look in the mirror and notice that. When they did, she wanted them to feel good.

She wanted them to be proud.

Mary stepped out of the room, looking behind her one last time.

 “We deserve better than this” she whispered to them in the dark. “And I’ll make sure we get it.”

To her own surprise, she believed it.

**Author's Note:**

> so, finally, part 2 is here! and i guess it probably wasn't what part 1 led you to expect it would be. robert's pov will come, though, i just felt like mary should have her own spotlight first. this ended up being much more a character study than a shippy piece, but hopefully, someone will enjoy it! all the titles of each section and chapter of the series are taken from here: x
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading! positive or not, i'd love to hear your thoughts about it. and if you want to, you can find me at my tumblr: x


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